Amnesia: Time
by Grimol
Summary: Originally an idea for a Custom Game of Amnesia, this turned into a full fledged story. Still in the making, and material is still subject to change. The portion I have given the audience to read takes place about a third of the way into it. Step in the shoes of Thomas, a guest in this strange mansion. Something is off about this mansion though, as if the time is not right...


Chapter 1

He stumbled through the poorly lit hallway, his hand brushing against the aged mahogany wall while his other kept the lantern steady. He still felt his heart pounding in his ear and his adrenaline pumping from his close encounter with that...thing, that inhuman thing. Closing his eyes, he escaped to his place in that garden from ages past, where everything was right and peaceful, where he was finally...with her. Forcing his way back to reality, telling himself he will be with her soon, he opened his eyes, seeing the darkened hallway ahead of him. The same familiar dread hung over him, pressing against his desperately acquired inner serenity, as his gaze tried to grasp the unseen in the darkness ahead.

He checked his lantern and took note that he would soon need more lamp oil soon. Thankfully he still had several bunches of tinder left, lest he be lost in the dark of this strange place. Steeling himself, he held the lantern up, making his way to the nearest door, hoping for either a way out or something useful. He felt around for the doorknob as he looked over his shoulder. His hand fumbling on the round metal orb which he gave a small gentle twist. Much to his dismay, the door responded with a click and refused to budge. He swore under his breath and thought, _'Why is every door in this unholy establishment locked?!'_

He continued on in the hallway, his only source of light was the wick in the glass cased lantern, which did very little to penetrate the darkness after several feet, as if the pitch black was a living entity. He felt cold as he crept along the wall, taking care not to disturb the silence.  
Nevertheless, the silence was broken by the sound of a creaking door opening mere feet away from him. He froze in place, immediately feeling a light pounding in his skull as his hands became sweaty. He swallowed the lump in his throat and waited for the sound of footsteps. He must have been so preoccupied with finding a door that he forgot to listen for any sounds or sign of anything else. He was straining his ears for what seemed like an eternity, hearing his own heart beating in his ears as he tried to maintain his breathing...but no footsteps came.

Mustering up his courage, he stood up and cautiously made his way, hopeful that nothing was there. A cold press of air startled him and he turned toward the source; an open window with the curtains blowing gently. He heard the door behind him creak and he spun on his heels, lantern shaking in his hand as he tried to illuminate the shadowy doorway. Realizing the door was moved by the breeze, he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that hovering dread recede momentarily.

_'Okay, get a grip on yourself, Thomas'_ he murmured to himself, his tongue brushing over his dry lips. Now inside the door, he could make out a bookshelf just within range of his lantern. He walked a little more assured now and saw that it was a small room, with the one door he came through. Feeling safe, he closed the door behind him and lit the candle on a nearby desk, extinguishing his own to conserve what precious oil he had left. He sat down in the chair at the desk, feeling much more relaxed than he had in ages. Rummaging around the drawers, he found a small glass of lantern oil.

He noticed a note on the desk, seemed like a personal entry. Hoping that he could figure out the oddities of this place, he began to read it.

_18th July 1845_

_I can't stop it; I need to feel it again. That wonderful release that I feel every time the flames lick my arms or when the blade scratches my skin. It lets me know that I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid of the monsters anymore, the monsters that hound me every day. Or even the monsters that stroll around with their facades and lies. The don't care about anyone who isn't like them, they would rather I didn't exist. But I'll show them, I'll show them just how much I can be like them._

_~Silas_

Not only was the letter disturbing, but the date was also odd; it was more than a year ago. Why would it be here still? And is he talking about the monsters Thomas ran into while he was in the observatory? Or is there more to this tale?

Too many questions, he thought. He filled his lantern with the little oil he found, now somewhat satisfied that he can make it last at least for a few hours instead of minutes. He stood up and made his way for the door...but, there was no door.

Thomas stepped to where the door was, placing his hand where the frame should be. His mind was in a fray of disbelief, scrambling to find a logical rationing for this. '_Perhaps it was on the other side,_' he thought, reasoning that he was still recuperating from his scare earlier. He turned to look around the room for the door.

What caught his eye was not a way out, but by the light of the candle, he saw a change. He noticed the wall across from him had an oddity about it, something was jutting out from the wood itself that was such an eye-sore; he wondered why he didn't see it in the first place. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it WAS the wood, but it was gray and discolored, like it was exposed to a large fire.

He put his hand up to the piece of wood and as his hand grazed the edge, the fragile charred mahogany broke and fell to floor like a feather. This confused him more and he began to break into a sweat under his brown long coat. He decided to relax for a bit longer and as he turned around he discovered the real reason he was sweating as a wave of heat washed over him, his face in horror at what he could have done.

'_Oh no, I forgot the candle!'_ he panicked, seeing the flames engulf the desk and the books as the smoke stung his eyes making them water. He coughed as it filled his lungs, '_When did it get this bad? Why didn't I notice it before?!'_ He gritted his teeth in frustration. He suddenly felt a severe hot sensation on his arm and he started beating at the flames on his sleeve, cursing at his carelessness with the lantern oil.

Thomas backed into a corner, opposite of the flames, tears of desperation streaming down his face. There was no exit and he would die down here in this awful place, never to see his beloved again or to tell the dirty butcher off for suggesting to come here. He laughed at the thought, might even punch the arrogant man in the jaw.

'_Here I am about to burn alive and I'm laughing at punching the butcher. I have lost it._' He thought, tears still pouring as the reality of his imminent fate came upon him, reminding him that this place will be his tomb. He felt his throat become scratchy as he began to sob loudly. After several moments, the sound became dull and stopped while he still cried. Thomas wiped away his tears and attempted to be brave enough to look at his reaper. Yet there was a familiar silhouette on the other side of the room, behind the hungry flames; a doorway.

It was almost unbelievable. He stood up as best as his shaking legs could, nearly falling over, but not tearing his eyes from the exit. He skirted the room around the fire, making his way slowly to the only way out. He finally made it to the same wall, mere feet from the door now. His fingers were grasping for the doorknob, now heated from the fire. He jerked his hand back in reaction but his desperation forced his hand back around the hot metal. He felt the pain biting at his fingers as he twisted the handle. His hand slipped due to the sweat which he quickly wiped on his trousers. In the corner of his eye, he saw the fire creeping closer, eating away hungrily at the interior of the room. Thomas' heart pounded with fear and anxiety, his body quivering as he finally felt the door give way and open.

He fell out into the dark hallway upon his hands and knees, gasping for fresh air. Thomas slowly made his way to the window, pulling himself up on his feet and leaning his back against the window sill, feeling the cool breeze kiss his face. But when he looked to see the danger he just escaped from, he was deeply horrified.

The doorway he barely made it through was now charred and damaged by the fire that was no longer there. The orange glow it once cast upon the floor was replaced by the darkness, and only the cold breeze remained where there was once heat. He cautiously picked up his lantern, lighting it and looking inside the study room he fled.

The furniture looked brand new and the books were replaced and showed no sign of damaged or charring. The room was now clean and inhabitable yet the signs of the fire was still lingering upon the walls and ceiling. The ceiling and walls held the black marks of where the flame greedily licked and climbed. Yet one more detail was off in the room; the letter.

The letter, once clean and only aged by time, contained the crumpled black paper at its edges, ravaged by a fire. The candle light cast a dark shadow in the room over the paper as Thomas inhaled sharply, forgetting to breath. He decided to find another room to rest in as he made his way down the hallway, brushing the edges off of the ruined note before folding it inside his journal.


End file.
